


don't worry, baby

by wildcard_47



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Honey.” Joan leaned forward and took his hand between both of hers, and that was when Lane knew something was off. “This is bigger than food.” She took another deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”</p><p>“You’re—” Lane couldn’t finish the sentence, just stared at her, and sputtered out a sort of faint scoff. “No, you’re not.”</p><p>“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, with a weary expression. “Yes.”</p><p>He stared at her without speaking for several seconds. “But that’s—that’s not—possible.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't worry, baby

“Darling? Are you here?”

Lane put his briefcase by the coatrack and hung up his jacket; the routine was so comforting and familiar he couldn’t help smiling to himself. Reminded him of the earliest days of their marriage, when they were both going in and out at all hours, and the boys were very small.

 _“Nigel, darling,”_ a young voice echoed in a facetious way before it trailed off into a loud snicker. Lane rolled his eyes as he poked his head into the kitchen.

The boys were crowded around the oven; specks of raw dough covered the counter and a bowl of some thick green substance had been mixed together in haste. Looked like icing. Kevin’s hands and front were showered in flour and Nigel had some in his hair.

“Right. Where’s your mother?” Lane asked first.

“Quarantined,” Nigel pointed towards the living room. “Said to make ourselves useful.”

Kevin was grinning. “We’re making dessert.”

“Ah.” Lane raised an eyebrow. If Joan was ill enough to let the boys create this kind of mess in the kitchen, she must not be feeling any better. “Well. I’ll just—go see how she’s doing.”

When he walked into the living room, he found Joan lying on the sofa, half-asleep with the television on in the background. She had the blanket pulled over her.

He touched her shoulder to get her to stir. “Hello. How’s my little influenza patient, hm?”

Joan groaned, and put a hand over her eyes in a way he thought spelled trouble. A stray piece of red hair slipped from her updo and fell across her forehead as he continued.

“I can get you some medicine, if you haven’t taken any.”

She made an unhappy noise, and sat up slightly, wincing as she adjusted two pillows behind her back. “Don’t bother. It’s not the flu.”

“Really?” Lane was surprised to hear this. With all the symptoms and her inability to eat, he’d been so sure. “Did you—some sort of virus, then?”

“No.” She huffed out a loud sigh.

“Was it the Italian place, from the other night?” Lane was still lost in thought. “You ate a couple of oysters.”

“Honey.” She leaned forward and took his hand between both of hers, and that was when Lane knew something was off. “It’s bigger than food.” She took another deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re—” Lane couldn’t finish the sentence, just stared at her, and sputtered out a sort of faint scoff. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, with a weary expression. “Yes.”

He stared at her without speaking for several seconds.

“But that’s—that’s not—possible.”

“Well, it is. I’m about twelve weeks,” Joan said with a sigh, still gripping his hand with both of hers. “Dr. Crawford confirmed it. He did the test several times.”

Lane could hardly think. “ _Twelve?_ ”

Joan gave him a look that said it should be obvious. “The party.”

_Oh, good god._

They’d been invited to a fancy dress party to fundraise for the baseball program at Kevin’s school. He’d gone as Mets coach Yogi Berra, while Joan had gone as one of the Rockford Peaches—complete with the short-skirted uniform, long, curled hair, and the lovely little hat—and so he’d spent most of the night hiding and experiencing various states of torture from a distance.

Until they’d got home, anyway.

“But—but you just can’t be—”

“Lane, I’m forty eight,” Joan finally snapped, “not dead.”

“I—obviously,” he sputtered, pulling his hands away in an attempt to find some sanity. “Only—you’re on the pill, for Christ’s sake—”

“I know,” she said wearily. “I’m still pregnant.”

“Hell’s _teeth_. Stop saying that.” Lane put his head in his hands to dull the ringing in his ears. Pregnant. _Pregnant._ How could this be happening? How could they let this happen?

“What?”

 _Bollocks._ Lane quickly yanked his head back up, and hoped she hadn’t heard the end of that unfortunate sentence. “Nothing. It’s—I’m just—”

He made a sort of _exploding_ gesture next to his head with one hand – Nigel had been the one to start this, years ago – before he let out another sigh, and rested one hand on her leg.

“Did—did you believe it, when Tom told you?” He wondered how long she had suspected the news, and how long she’d kept it to herself. Had she been poorly for more than a couple of weeks? Had he not noticed? Why hadn’t he noticed?

Joan shook her head no. “I laughed right in his face.”

“Hm.” He huffed out a breath. _Wouldn’t have been my first thought._

After a small silence, she reached out and patted his hand. He glanced over and saw the worry in her face. A pang of sympathy coursed through his chest.

“What are we going to do?” she asked quietly. She looked like she might cry.

A loud clanging noise accompanied by several curses rang out of the kitchen, followed by the boys shouting at each other—something to do with ruining the batter or the icing. And possibly a cake pan being flung into the cabinets.

_God, can you even follow a simple piece of direction? Measure out—_

_You should stop being such a dumbass!_

“Now,” Lane leaned in and kissed her temple, wincing as the name calling worsened. “I’ll get that cleaned up. And then we’ll—we’ll sort everything out, hm?”

The full truth didn’t hit him until they went to bed. Joan climbed under the covers and went right to sleep. She was clearly relieved to be free of her secret, but he could hardly shut his eyes without feeling the old prickle of fear at the back of his mind. What if something goes wrong? What if it hurts her? What if it’s sick?

_What if what if what if_

Eventually, he gave up on sleep entirely, and went out to sit in the living room, staring around his flat in the dark and trying to quiet the other voice in his head, the one that was excited, that always got its hopes up too soon.

_A baby. Our baby._

**

“Holy shit,” Nigel stared at the two of them open-mouthed, as if they’d just sat down at the kitchen table and announced they were off to live on a desert island. “Are you—you must be—joking?”

Lane gave him a pleading look. “This is a—a natural part of life, Nigel. People have children.”

“Yeah, but not—” he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, and seemed at a loss for words. “Christ. I can’t believe it.”

“It is a surprise,” Joan agreed, and let out a breath.

Nigel was still talking. “I mean, you’ll be in your _eighties_ when it graduates school. Do you realize that?”

Kevin laughed, and spoke up for the first time in two minutes. “Ew, you could be its grandpa!”

“Okay,” Joan held up a hand, and looked annoyed. Kevin quickly sobered. “Is that really all you two have to say? _Ew?_ ”

“I don’t know.” Kevin lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You’re so old.”

Lane made an unhappy noise. “Oh, honestly.”

“Young enough to have it off, apparently,” Nigel muttered under his breath.

“ _Gross!_ ”

“ _Nigel Alistair!_ ”

“He sure did. Twice.”

Lane felt the blood rush to his face, and glanced toward the ceiling in an attempt to avoid everyone’s gazes. Nigel snickered loudly. Kevin made a prolonged groaning noise.

“Mom, _don’t_.”

“Well, you brought it up,” Joan said tersely.

It was clearly a warning: _don’t do that again._ When Lane finally glanced back around the table, he noticed the way Kevin now watched his mother with wide eyes. Like he had questions. Like there was so much he wanted to say.

“Can you—do you feel it move, and stuff?”

“Not yet,” she said. “That’ll take time.”

“But it’s what made you sick, right?”

“Only at first,” Lane said quickly. “She’ll feel better in a few weeks.”

A small furrow had formed between Nigel’s brows; he looked concerned, now. “But you’re feeling all right?” He made a sort of small circular waving gesture at Joan’s middle. “I mean, everything’s—healthy?”

Lane raised an eyebrow.

“So far,” Joan summoned up a small smile, although Lane knew she was anxious on that particular front. “I’ll just have to be cautious. Since it’s…unusual…”

“No kidding.”

“…there’s obviously going to be a few adjustments.”

“I bet it’s a boy,” Kevin said after a long pause.

Nigel sounded amused. “Hmph. Ten dollars says it isn’t.”

“No—“ Lane was going to have to put his foot down. “Now, you’re not—”

“Ha!” Kevin slapped a crumpled bill into Nigel’s hands. “You’re on!”

 

 

“Phoned the landlord again,” Nigel told Joan as he brought two magazines over to the sofa. She thanked him and took a sip of her tea as he slouched down in Lane’s armchair. “Apparently, exterminators aren’t done till next week. All right if I stay till then?”

“Yes,” Joan told him with a sigh. “But you really should find a new place. Your father will keep complaining about it.”

“Well, I’m not taking his money, and I can’t live anywhere else until I move up a station, so he can piss off about it.”

Down the hall, in Lane’s office, they heard a loud noise like a book being shoved into the floor. He had called someone to share the news, but Joan couldn’t remember if it was Rebecca or his brother on the other end of the line.

_“How dare you laugh at this!”_

She pursed her mouth to keep from cackling, and gave Nigel a meaningful look as Lane continued his tirade.

“You stupid ass! This is not amusing in the slightest!” A pause. “No, I most certainly did not! And I’ll thank you not to—”

 _Definitely_ _Lewis._

“Figures,” she said with a sigh, although it always made her grin. Those two and their phone calls.

Nigel hid a smirk behind one hand.

 

 

“Okay, Mrs. Pryce.” With no warning, the matronly nurse squirted a cold, thick gel onto Joan’s stomach, and began to spread it around using the rounded metal wand attached to the enormous machine. The temperature made Joan gasp a little. “Now, I know you didn’t have an ultrasound with your last child, but they’re very routine these days, especially for older mothers.”

Joan willed herself to be calm, and squeezed her eyes closed as the nurse guided the wand to the telltale swell of her abdomen. _Older mothers._ How ridiculous. “What—what does it do?”

“It’ll allow us to get a look at the baby, see how it’s developed, and listen to the heartbeat.”

She pressed a button on the machine and tapped a few keys. The screen hummed to life as she continued moving the wand back and forth.

“I really don’t think—” Joan thought of Lane, stuck all the way out in the waiting room, and wished he could have come back here. She didn’t like this. She just wanted to have her checkup and go home. “Is this really necessary?”

_I’m scared it’s not—_

A sudden _whoosh-whoosh-whoosh_ filled the air, a rhythmic, static-filled whir that made Joan wrench her eyes open in surprise. The nurse was still holding the wand against Joan’s stomach, and staring at the small video feed that was set just above her keyboard, making an approving face.

“All right, Mom. Let’s meet your baby.”

She turned the machine toward Joan, and immediately gestured toward the bottom of the larger monitor. “See that little body?”

Joan squinted toward the fuzzy black and white image, wishing she’d brought her glasses, and suddenly realizing they were on the chain around her neck. She put them on and gasped when she saw the picture.

The nurse was gesturing toward the screen as she spoke. Joan could barely hear her. “Now, this is the side of your uterus, and right here is the…”

Jesus. It even _looked_ like a baby. Even through the static, she could make out a head and a little belly and a leg that was protruding up and at an angle. The bottom of his foot was pressed against one side of her uterus. If she squinted, she could even see a couple of tiny toes. Oh, my god.

“Looks healthy so far.” The nurse smiled at her, before continuing to write on the chart. “Isn’t it something?”

Joan remembered the last time she’d done this. Walter had used his stethoscope to find Kevin’s heartbeat, and had let her listen, and printed out a slip of paper that looked like a seismograph readout, but it was nothing like this.

This was incredible. The little thump-thump-thump just kept echoing through the exam room, making Joan woozy with relief. She started to cry, and put a hand over her mouth. Lane needed to be here. Lane needed to hear this.

“I-I want my husband,” she told the nurse, through a hiccupped sob. “Please.”

The nurse gamely got up and went to fetch him, and after a minute or two, heavy footsteps thudded outside the door and Lane was there, with his raincoat clutched in one hand and a terrified look in his eyes as he rushed to her side.

“Darling, what is it? What did they say?”

“Look.” She gestured to the grainy screen with a whimper, pressing the wand to her belly again. “Listen.”

He turned toward the monitor immediately, but she knew the second the penny dropped, because his eyes got very round, he became very still, and let out a shaky breath. After a minute, he fumbled for the nearest chair and sunk into the seat as he reached out for her.

“That’s really—him?”

His fingers slid through the clear gel, grazing across her bare stomach for the first time since they’d actually made the baby. She barely noticed; she was so wrapped up in watching the tiny screen. His heartbeat was so quick and loud. It sounded so strong. She was so happy she could hardly breathe.

“He’s beautiful,” Joan whispered.

Lane swiped at his face with a distinctive sob, and when he glanced back at Joan, he looked wrung-out with relief. “And he’s—” his voice cracked “—all right.”

She nodded, and teared up again. “So far.”

_The baby’s okay. He’s doing okay._

The nurse came back into the room two minutes later, and promptly sent Lane packing, but Joan felt like a weight had been lifted, and was able to relax for the first time in weeks.

 

That night, before he turned out the light, Lane took the small picture out again and stared at it for a long time, his fingers running over and over the glossy edges, like he still couldn’t believe it was real. He stared at it for several minutes, so intently it was as if he was trying to memorize every detail in the baby’s face.

“You know,” Joan told him, voice innocent, “you could come see the real deal for yourself.”

He propped the picture up on his nightstand against an old photo of the boys. It was snapped in front of the first Holloway Harris office; Kevin had dirt smudged on his nose and two gaps in his teeth, while Nigel still hadn’t grown into his height, all elbows and knees and shielding his face from the sun with one hand. His hair was shorter then. They hated that picture. It was one of Lane’s favorites.

“Well, if I must,” he said dryly, and rolled over to plant a kiss on her stomach.

 

 

“Honey,” Joan crawled closer to Lane in the dark, took his hand and guided it up to her thigh, biting back a moan, so turned on she couldn’t focus. She hadn’t been able to sleep for days. It was like being twelve again, throbbing anytime a boy so much as breathed near her, and spending nights alone in bed figuring out how to make herself feel good. “Please—just a little one—”

Lane made a groggy noise; she silenced it with a kiss, and then nipped at his pulse point, hoped it got him in the mood. They’d already done it twice today, which was more than they’d done in years, unless you counted that one Fourth of July, three summers ago.

“Hm.” He sighed out a little moan, sounded more awake now. “M’kay.”

She quickly undid the drawstring of his pajamas so she could free him, and moved the hem of her nightgown out of the way as she straddled his hips. He groaned again as she guided him inside her, and when she started to move she shuddered all over, had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle a whimper. _God, oh god, that’s good, I’m so close._

He got a hand under her nightgown, fingers clumsily rubbing above the place where they were joined, but to Joan it was so good it made her bite her lip. She fisted the sheets in two hands, her hips jerked faster, and after another minute, she clenched all around him with an audible groan, her loud, erratic breaths echoing all through the dark room.

She’d rolled off him, said something playful, and kissed his neck before she finally realized—had he even come? Did she even think to ask?

“Honey?” she whispered, tentative. “Are you—?”

Lane snuffled out a long, even breath, but said nothing.

Oh, shit. Was he actually asleep? Poor thing.

“Lane,” she whispered again, and reached over discreetly to feel him. He wasn’t even hard. She bit back the laugh that threatened to bubble up into her throat, and just adjusted his waistband so he was decent. Whoops.

“’Lo,” he slurred as she pulled her hand away, and sighed out a long breath, rolling over onto his side. “S’ in th’box.”

 

 

She was pressed against the doorframe of his office with his hand down her leggings—a rare moment alone in the house. Joan clutched his jacket in two fists, wobbly and incoherent, and her face prickled with heat as he fucked her messy with his fingers, getting her to finish fast the way she liked, oh god, one more time—

Her toes curled as she came. She actually shouted.

 

 

“Hey, Mom?” Kevin rapped on the half-open door and poked his head into their bedroom. It was Saturday morning. She was propped up in bed against three pillows, finishing some paperwork. “Dad’s asleep in his cereal. You know that, right?”

“What?” Joan barely had time to digest this news before she heard Nigel’s telltale howl of laughter, and a snappish yelp that meant Lane was awake now.

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and Kevin pulled a _yikes_ face as he stepped forward to let Lane through. When she got a good look at him, Joan pressed her lips together to keep herself from laughing. One side of his face, neck, and jacket were suspiciously damp and a couple of soggy Cheerios were stuck in the side of his hair. Like they’d crusted and dried there.

She kicked Kevin out, and after Lane had emerged from the shower and got dressed, she took the opportunity to apologize.

He didn’t take it as well as she’d hoped.

“Well, I’m not just going to let you suffer for four more months.”

“But if you’re tired, just tell me,” she pleaded.

“Oh, honestly.” He made a noise that said he didn’t know why she was getting _her knickers in a twist._ “I’m not too tired for—I’m your husband, for god’s sake.”

“I know,” Joan said, but winced and groaned as she tried to beckon him over to the bed. Jesus. Her back had been killing her this time around. It had not been this bad before. Had it? Jesus. She could hardly remember.

Lane sighed, and glanced at her with soft, worried eyes. “That awful?”

“No.” She shook her head, tried to smile, although the pain knifed through her nerves like a bullet. “I’ll just, um, get another hot water bottle. Tell Jim hello.”

When he returned from his afternoon of meetings, it was with a couple of Macy’s bags carried in one hand, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he set one down beside her.

“More Star Trek stuff?” she asked carefully. Please, god, no.

“Sadly, no,” Lane gestured for her to peek inside the paper bag. When she did, she was surprised, and pulled out the rectangular cardboard box, glancing over the packaging with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s for your back.” He looked very pleased with himself as he crossed over to the dresser and began to get changed. “They make all sorts of gadgets now. I saw it in a display on the appliances floor as I was leaving the registry desk.”

Joan studied the picture on the front of the box. What it looked like was an industrial-sized vibrator, but he was trying to do something nice for her, and she wasn’t going to be stupid enough to spoil it. “And what does it do?”

“Salesgirl said it was very good for pain,” he said, unlooping his tie and placing it onto the dresser. “Plugs into the wall—relaxes the muscles. Although supposedly you can’t use it for more than twenty minutes or it’ll get too hot.”

“I’ll bet,” Joan made a considering face. The boys were staying at Nigel’s tonight. If her hunch was right, this could turn out to be very interesting. She kept her voice light when she spoke again. Maybe she just had sex on the brain. It was probably just going to be a hot roller. “Can you help me set it up?”

He poked his head through his sweater like a wild gopher, but made a noise of assent. “Course. Let’s have a look at it.”

 

 

“Oh, my god,” Joan gasped out, spent, and put an arm over her eyes. Her heartbeat was pounding all over her body. Sweat was cooling on her bare skin, and that amazing thing was buzzing at the bottom of the bed, and she felt so boneless and happy she could have floated away. “Honey, you—you’re—a _genius._ ”

Lane just giggled the way he always did after a really big orgasm, groaning as he tried to roll toward her. His face was bright red and his hair was sticking up all over. It had been good for him, too. He hardly ever came before she did, but with that thing between them, and the way he’d moved—

“Well, I—I—really wasn’t trying to—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Joan groped for his hand over the clammy sheets, shaking her head from side to side. “Still genius.”

He started giggling again.

“Remind me to write the Japanese a thank-you,” she slurred as she rolled over, and just before she conked out, she felt Lane’s lips press against her cheek.

 

 

Joan was in the middle of her seventh month when she fainted at the office. She locked her knees during a quick stand-up meeting, and cut her hand on the side of a metal trash can on the way down. It was so stupid.

They took her to the hospital to get her hand stitched up. Dawn sat silent and tense next to her in the waiting room, and only got up to call the office once, to let Ken know they were going to be late.

“Well, it’s not broken,” Tom peered at Joan’s x-ray and let out a huff of breath through his nose, “but you’re damn lucky. Anything more traumatic and you could have gone into premature labor.”

“Okay,” Joan said slowly, willing herself to stay calm, and prodding at the gauze taped over her palm with the fingers of her other hand. Lane had been a basket case over the phone. The baby was currently doing what felt like backflips on top of her bladder. “So what do I need to do?”

He’d given her a look that said she wasn’t going to like this. “For the time being, you’re on bed rest.”

 

 

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Joan shouted, grabbing another dress from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Oh, god. This one wasn’t going to fit, either. She flung it into the floor. “Damn it!”

“Yes, he bloody well does! You fainted, Joan! And Dr. Crawford said that—”

“I don’t give a shit what he said! I. Feel. _Fine._ ”

“Well, you aren’t fine! You are carrying _our_ child, and you’ve worked too much already, and I’m not just going to stand by and let you—”

“Oh, my god!” Joan flung the door open and gave him as savage a glare as she could manage while being half-dressed. “ _You won’t let me?_ ”

“Yes.” Lane drew himself up to his full height, his face set in a mulish way. “I’m putting my foot down.”

She thrust a finger out towards him, gesturing angrily with every word. “This is the exact same shit you pulled when I was pregnant with Kevin!“

Lane looked flabbergasted. “Wha—it is not!”

“You bitched at me for six months, even though you _knew_ I had to work—”

“Well, you don’t have to now, for god’s sake—”

“I am trying to keep this company sailing smoothly, and all that I ask—”

“—can’t you see that I’m only—”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Because it _terrifies_ me, Joan!”

Lane’s voice was quiet this time. He sat down on the edge of their bed, pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and let out a long breath. She folded her arms across her chest as he spoke.

“I’ve been having the—the dreams again. About Becca, and all the other times, and I can’t just—” he shook his head. “This is not only about what you want. We agreed that when the time came, sacrifices might need to be made.”

“You don’t think I’m terrified?” She padded over on bare feet to sit next to him. Considering how round she was, it took her a minute to get settled.

“I think you’re being overly optimistic,” he replied with a huff, but there was no venom in his answer.

“Honey, I worry about this baby every single day. I worry about you, and Nigel, and Kevin, and the company, and I just—” she swallowed, and felt tears spring to her eyes, although they didn’t fall. “I can’t spend every minute staring at the ceiling, wondering if one step out of bed will hurt him. I—” she leaned over, and put her head on his shoulder. “I can’t think like that.”

_What if something happens to him anyway?_

“Darling, I’m not trying to quarantine you.”

She lifted her head from Lane’s shoulder.

“Just stay off your feet, please.” He cupped her cheek with one palm, and then let go to press that same hand against the taut swell of her stomach, barely covered by her thin slip. The baby was kicking. “The four of you are so precious to me. I just—want you to be safe. And we promised that we would do whatever was necessary _when the time came._ ”

Joan let out a groan, and closed her eyes, letting his calm voice wash over her anxious nerves. “You’re making sense. I hate it when you do that.”

There was a small smile in Lane’s voice. He thought this joke was funny. “Well, you’ve always liked it before.”

“I do.” She sighed again, opened her eyes, and leaned forward to kiss him, although she was so big she misjudged the distance and barely grazed the corner of his mouth. “I really do.”

 

 

Month eight found her off bedrest, thank god. She’d nearly killed everyone in the house after the second week, although she had handed over most of the heavy lifting to Dawn, Ken, and a couple of the junior partners.

Lane took pains to make sure she didn’t feel restless; they had a long lunch scheduled together every Thursday. Today’s was at the Plaza; he’d asked to splurge. She figured there wasn’t much time left to do things like this, so off they’d gone.

Ten minutes into her sparkling wine, and she’d spotted a familiar face walking by their corner of the dining room. She raised a hand to get his attention.

“Pete,” she called. “Won’t you say hello?”

He turned. Joan couldn’t help smiling as he recognized them and began to walk over. He’d gained more weight since the last time she saw him, and his hairline had receded even further, but otherwise, he was as strangely chipper as ever. Although in that black suit, he looked like an urban penguin.

“My goodness.” Pete’s smile widened as he arrived at the table. “Joan and Lane Pryce. This is a rare treat.”

He shook Lane’s hand with gusto, and turned to Joan as if he meant for her to stand up and join him in a hug. One look at her enormous stomach, and his eyes widened so comically she almost burst out laughing.

“So, you haven’t heard,” was all she said, and set her napkin aside. She did laugh a little, this time. “I’m due next month.”

“I—must have missed the memo.” He stared from her to Lane like he had no idea how this had happened. “Well, you look—lovely. Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Joan said wryly. “We were all very surprised.”

“Yes,” Pete said faintly. He was probably imagining what he’d do if Trudy got pregnant again. Run away screaming, probably. Tammy had to be sixteen or seventeen by now.

“And how are the girls these days?” Lane asked, which seemed to jolt Pete out of his reverie. He showed them a few pictures, told them all about Wichita, and informed them that Trudy had taken up some kind of sales job with Mary Kay, and had outsold everyone in the Midwest for several years in a row as a result.

“Last year—” his eyes lit up the way they used to when he talked about closing a sale “—she earned _two_ _pink Cadillacs._ ”

“A thing like that,” Lane said dryly, as if he might laugh. Joan nudged his shoe with hers under the table.

           

           

“Tom, you promised,” Joan swore, a contraction rippling through her body like a wave as she gripped Nigel’s hand, “oh, _shit—we scheduled the…”_

It was so painful she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know, Joanie.” When the contraction finally passed, she was finally able to glare at Dr. Crawford, who looked sympathetic as he watched her gasp for breath. She was lying on her back in a hospital bed. They were supposed to have a C-section next Monday at noon. “We had a lot of plans, but you’re too far gone now. We can’t do the epidural, considering how much you’re dilated. It won’t even kick in until everything’s over.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Joan moaned, and put a hand over her eyes. Where was Lane? He should have been here by now. “Nigel, where is he?”

“I phoned the office, the house, his service, and Dawn,” he blurted in a rush. “Erm. I can get Kevin from school—”

“No,” Joan shook her head. She didn’t want Kevin to be worried, and she didn’t want her other son running around the city like a chicken with its head cut off. “Don’t!”

“Okay, Joan,” Tom flipped her chart closed and set it back on the bottom rail of her bed. “We’ve probably got less than a few hours until this show’s over. You want your son to stay with you?”

 _Fuck._ She weighed her options, not wanting Nigel to see her like this, but too terrified to tell him she couldn’t be alone— _oh, god—not another one—_

She gripped his hand as tightly as she could, barely registering his sputtered words as he tried to encourage her. The pain got so bad she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think—all she could do was scream.

 

 

In the waiting room, two nurses spoke in rushed, high-pitched tones. 

“Sir, you can’t go back there when—”

“We will come and—”

“No, that is unacceptable! I _demand_ you take me to see my wife this instant!”

Fuck. Nigel quickened his steps, and when he rounded the corner near the main nurse’s desk, still wearing his scrub top and hat, his father pushed past the two ladies and rushed to him, grabbing both of his hands. The left one was so sore Nigel was fairly sure it was broken, although he didn’t know how to say so without seeming like a complete idiot.

“Nigel, thank god. How—where—?”

“Joan’s all right,” Nigel said first, and glanced over Dad’s shoulder at Kevin, who was carrying his backpack in one hand, and looked white-faced with fear. Must’ve come straight from school. “They let me stay with her.”

Dad sagged in relief, and released Nigel’s fingers. He looked as if he might blub. “Oh, thank god. So you—”

It clearly took him a moment to absorb the news. Whatever he was about to say had sputtered off into nothing. “Hang on. They let you—stay with her? Through—through all of it?”

“Yeah.” Nigel coughed awkwardly. “Erm. Since things were early, she was—“ _terrified,_ he didn’t say. _In a ridiculous amount of pain._ “Well.”

He had never thought having a baby would be anything like…. _that._ All he’d heard about was the stork, and then some weird biology talk from Dad, and then the really dirty bits Uncle Lewis had told him. Everyone only spoke about how wonderful it was. Nobody had ever mentioned the bleeding, or the horrible metal tools, or how bad labor pains actually were. How the hell did anyone get born at all?

“And—and the baby?” Dad asked, his voice very faint.

Nigel gulped. His sister had cried very faintly when she was born, but they’d taken her away before even Joan could see her. He didn’t know what that meant. They said they had to do some tests.

“Mr. Pryce,” said a sudden voice behind him. Nigel felt a wash of relief as he recognized the head nurse walking toward them. She’d taken off her bloody smock from before, and underneath that, her uniform was fresh and new. “Did your son tell you? You have a baby girl.”

Dad looked thunderstruck. “He’s—a girl?”

The nurse nodded, smiling at them in what Nigel guessed was meant to be a kind way. Total shit; he’d seen the militaristic way she’d been barking orders in the delivery room, before. No way she was the nice one. “Seven pounds, four ounces. Mom and baby are doing well. You’ll get to see them soon.”

“Oh, my god,” Dad grabbed Nigel into a tight hug, palms braced against his back for several seconds before he released him, kissed his forehead, and mussed his hair with one palm. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Sorry,” Nigel felt his eyes sting, remembering how small she’d been. “Yeah.”

“My darling boy.” Dad was definitely blubbing now. “Seems like yesterday that—oh, I just—” he sniffed, seemed to come back to himself. “Oh, where’s Kevin?”

They found him sitting very stiffly in the corner of the waiting room, arms locked tight around his backpack. God, he was never this quiet, even when he was ill.

“Hello, weirdo,” Nigel said affectionately, and tapped him in the shoulder with a gentle fist. “Mum’s had the baby. We’ve got a tiny sister.”

Bit weird to call Joan _Mum,_ but he supposed he might as well, all things considered. Long as Mother never found out about it.

“We do?” Kevin looked hopeful. “Is she okay?”

“She’s doing very well,” Dad said. “Nigel went in with Mama, so it was all right. They’re just going to get her moved into a new room, and then we’ll get to see both of them.”

“Oh! And you owe me a tenner coz she’s a girl. I forgot to bring it with me.”

Kevin had a bit of color back in his face. “What’s her name?”

Nigel scratched at his head, not sure what it was. Dad just looked embarrassed.

“Erm. Well….”

“You didn’t think of a name?” Kevin looked unimpressed. “Dad, that’s so dumb. You had nine months!”

 

 

 

“Catherine Abigail Elizabeth Pryce,” Joan leaned forward in bed and placed the baby into Nigel’s arms. She felt a rush of pride at the tender way he looked down at her. He was so in love.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Nigel murmured to the little bundle. “So, you’ve got four names as well, hm? It’s pretty weird, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Move over,” Kevin complained. “Let me hold her!”

“And you’ll get used to this one, too. But he’s all right,” Nigel said fondly, and then gave Kevin a suspicious look. “Are your hands clean?”

“Yes,” Kevin groused. “God.”

Joan watched as Nigel showed Kevin how to support her head and neck.

“Dad coming back soon?” Nigel asked, soon as he’d handed her off. Joan nodded, sighing as she thought back to a few hours ago: Lane too overjoyed to speak when he saw them together—the way he’d embraced her—the way he’d pressed a hand to the baby’s crown and murmured the gentlest words into Joan’s ear.

“Here,” Nigel gestured toward Kevin, indicating that he should hold the baby a little closer. “Let her look out the windows. It’s nice today.”

“She can’t see anything yet, dipshit,” Kevin retorted, and then made an apologetic noise at the baby. “Sorry. Don’t listen to that.”

Joan heard a rustling at the door, and turned to see Lane with her suitcase in hand, smiling at everyone as if this were the best day of his life.

“Everyone’s all together,” he said happily, and crossed over to the bed, giving her a chaste kiss. “I thought my girls would like a few of their clothes.”

“Thank you,” Joan wiped a little bit of lipstick from the corner of his mouth. “We’ll need them.”

“Why would you—oh, god, she’s pooping,” Kevin yelped, and glanced around the room like there was someone else who could help him with this. “Augh! Mom! What the hell? How are babies this disgusting?”

Nigel howled with laughter at his helpless confusion, and even Lane snickered.

Joan held out her hands, and beckoned Kevin forward. “Bring her over here. I’ll show you what to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I always liked the name Catherine for a Pryce baby, because it's super English and also because Joan's friend Kate. I think they'd change the spelling, but it seemed to fit the best out of any that I tried. And yes, some women in their late 40s can get pregnant without in vitro! Uncommon, but it happens. They did a regular column series about it [in the Guardian](http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/oct/24/luisa-dillner-pregnant-older-mother) a few years back.
> 
> Sonogram/ultrasound technology was widely in use for a lot of pregnant women by the end of the 70s, and in my head this takes place in about 1979. So the machines aren't very futuristic, but they're not clunkers, either.
> 
> Also, of course Lane would be the type to accidentally buy [a Japanese sex toy](http://www.engadget.com/2014/08/27/history-of-the-hitachi-magic-wand/). That Macy's salesgirl probably laughed to herself for months.


End file.
